


What a Day

by Udunie



Series: What a Day [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Possibly Pre-Slash, Schuylkill, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 20:30:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12240120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/pseuds/Udunie
Summary: Downstairs, the usual pother of his aids trying to wrangle this god damned war into some form of order was absent, leaving the building lifeless. Washington supposed they were still working. He hoped they were, as they should, but he couldn’t make himself walk down the stairs to check.To hell with the war. To hell with everything.Hamilton was dead.





	What a Day

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something-something for those few of you who are as obsessed with Hamilton as I am ^^;;;
> 
> This will be sort of pre-Hamilton/Washington? Or you can read it platonically or however you want. Also, the tiny piece of French in it was provided by google translate, so, you know. Sorry LOL
> 
> Sadly unbetaed.

For once, the small farm house they’ve commandeered for their head-quarters for the time being was silent despite the early hour. As silent as the grave.

Washington stared at the ceiling of the little room he took for his personal quarter, lying on top of the covers of the bed in full uniform. Anyone who knew him would have been rightfully worried at the sorry sight he made; he was never known to idle away when there was work to be done.

Downstairs, the usual pother of his aids trying to wrangle this god damned war into some form of order was absent, leaving the building lifeless. Washington supposed they were still working. He hoped they were, as they should, but he couldn’t make himself walk down the stairs to check.

To hell with the war. To hell with everything.

Hamilton was dead.

He still couldn’t quite believe it. He’d been staring at the bare beams above him for more than an hour now looking for answers, but none came. A part of him was numb, assaulted by a winter chill that sneaked into his chest and was now slowly eating away at his very soul, freezing everything along the way. It was incomprehensible. 

His fingers twitched around the report Lee submitted on his return from the disastrous mission;  _Lieutenant Col. Hamilton was lost on the Schuylkill river during our retreat…_

It was getting cold outside, the tail-end of autumn barely keeping the early frosts at bay.

Washington blinked slowly, gaze transfixed on a spider working diligently on a web between two beams. If they couldn’t recover Hamilton’s body before winter - and it would be highly unlikely with the redcoats swarming around on the banks - they would have to wait until spring, if they ever even found it.

His treacherous mind was quick to supply the picture his dearest aide would make; a turgescent, formless corps. His sharp, smart features lost to death, bloating and the damage the fish made after months submerged in a dirty river…

His chest hurt, and he closed his eyes for a second to chase the visage away.

He should get up. 

There was a pile of correspondence waiting on his desk for approval. Most of them in Hamilton’s elegant, energetic hand. He could see him behind his eyelids clear as day, like he was just downstairs, hunched over some important matter in need of immediate attention, muttering to himself like a madman about one thing or the other.

Except Hamilton wasn’t downstairs. Hamilton was stuck in the silt at the bottom of the Schuylkill, and if Washington approved those letters now, he would never read his handwriting again. 

He should get up. Hamilton might have been lost, but the war was still to be fought. Washington was shamed by the fact that right now, with devastation still fresh in his mind, he didn’t care one bit. 

He tried to think about all the bright, vibrant young men downstairs. His family. They still needed him, now maybe more than ever.

He’d known since the first week of Hamilton’s service as his aide-de-camp, that his whole staff became a bit besotted with the young man and he couldn’t find it in himself to fault them; he wasn’t much better off. God, Laurens and Gilbert must be undone… But at least they had each-other for comfort however little it meant in the face of such an enormous loss.

Washington had nobody. He couldn’t afford to be seen in such despair even by the people he trusted the most. He wished for a second that Martha was there. She would understand, she always did. But alas, he had no crutch to lean on in his hour of need.

The world will never be the same.

There was a sudden, inexplicable burst of noise from downstairs, and for one confused second Washington thought that a cannon might have hit the house what with the sound of chairs falling over and men shouting incoherently.

He sat up, feeling his years more than he ever did since the beginning of this godforsaken war, but before he could stand he could already hear the thunder of feet up the stairs. He already dreaded whatever disaster had his boys in such a state. He didn’t think he could take much more today.

In any case, he expected a cursory knock as it was proper before someone entered the quarters of a general but instead the door was burst in with such force that it ricocheted from the wall hard enough to almost throw the Marquise off his feet as he skidded to a stop.

Gilbert looked crazed, his eyes wide and his handsome face drained of any color.

“ _Mon général! Venir vite!_ “ he shouted. Before Washington could even have a chance to open his mouth Gilbert grinned manically and then turned on his heels, fleeing down the stairs.

The fear that his dear Marquise finally lost his mind spurred him into action.

Washington climbed down the steps slowly, feeling like his joints were rusted over with age and sorrow. His men - every single one of them - were crowded by the door, swarmed around something with enough noise to put a pack of rabid dogs to shame.

The downstairs area looked like a battle was fought and lost in it; a desk and several chairs had been toppled over with sheets of paper scattered on the floor, some stuck in a pool of ink that spilled over from a table.

Washington was too tired for this.

“What is the meaning of this!?” he bellowed from the bottom step, letting his voice carry over the ruckus his aides were making.

To his astonishment, the commotion didn’t die down right away as he expected, leaving him feeling like he missed a step on the stairs until Laurens entangled himself from the crowd. His face was covered in tears.

“Sir,” he said, laughing as he pulled another person from the midst of the madness.

Washington felt like the world turned up side down, and he had to grab the railing to stop his knees from giving out on him.

Hamilton.

It was their dear Hamilton.

“Sir,” Hamilton said, looking… perfectly drowned. His clothes were covered in mud and seemed to be soaked through, his hair plastered to his head unflatteringly, his lips slightly blue with cold. Still, he stood on attention, trying in vain to straighten his dripping jacket. “I have returned and am reporting for duty.”

Washington took a deep breath and closed his eyes, feeling close to fainting from the sudden rush of relief coursing through his body. When he opened them again, Hamilton was still standing there, surrounded by his crying colleagues. It looked like all of them wanted to pat his back or shake his hand or give him a hug, and the poor man seemed to be a bit overwhelmed by the attention if the pinched expression on his face was anything to go by.

“You are to brief me immediately, Lieutenant Colonel,” Washington said finally, trying to make his voice sound like he wasn’t breaking apart under the surface.

Hamilton nodded tersely, waddling over with his boots leaving splatters of water in their wake. Washington could see Gilbert about to object, and he held up a hand in advance.

“John, bring something warm to eat for our Hamilton, if you would, son,” he said, nodding towards Laurens. The young man bobbed his head enthusiastically and was out the door in a second. If Washington had to wager a guess, their little lion had to make his way to camp on foot in the cold covered in wet clothing. He needed some food and some rest first of all.

“Hamilton, with me,” he ordered, feeling his heart rate settle with every step the man took towards him even though deep down he still felt unsure, like this was just a grief fueled dream. “And someone bring him a dry uniform to my room,” he threw over his shoulder. From the corner of his eye he could see Gilbert cutting him a sloppy salute as he ducked out of the building. Good.

Now he would have Hamilton all to himself with only his two closes friends with a pass to disturb them.

“And the rest of you clean up this mess, gentlemen.”

He could hear his aides murmuring behind him, righting the furniture and salvaging whatever they could of their work. He didn’t particularly care, not when Hamilton was finally beside him. Washington took the liberty of taking the young man’s elbow, only now able to breath freely that he had him under his hand.

They made their way up the steps slowly.

“With all due respect, Your Excellency, I’m not going to fall,” Hamilton told him under his breath, making Washington chuckle despite himself.

“As happy as I am to know that,” he said, squeezing down on the bony elbow under his fingers, “Allow  _me_ the support. You’ve aged me a decade today, my sweet boy, and I’m in dire need of assistance.”

Hamilton’s clever eyes cut to him, calculating and careful as he always was when Washington even just hinted at any paternal feelings towards him. It only took a second for them to grow gentler.

Hamilton covered Washington’s hand on him with his own.

“I’m sorry for worrying you, sir,” he said before sneezing.

“God bless you,” Washington murmured, feeling a smile touch his lips for the first time in what felt like eternity. What a day. 

What a day…

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at udunie.tumblr.com
> 
> Please leave a comment if you liked it!


End file.
